The Watchman Read online

  I want to know how.

  Jesus, I'm working on it. Do you need anything?

  I need to know how.

  He closed the phone as she stood, water running down the trough of her spine to the dolphin until she wrapped her hair in a towel. Only then did she find him in the mirror again and smile.

  You're looking at my ass.

  The pit bull barked.

  He did not hesitate. He drew the Python and ran to the back bedroom.

  She said, Joe! Damnit.

  In the back bedroom, he fingered open a slit in the shade as the girl hurried up behind him. The dog was on its feet, squinting at something he could not see.

  She said, What is it?

  Shh.

  The pit was trying to see something to their left, the flat top of its head furrowed and its nubby ears perked, no longer barking as it tested the air.

  Pike watched through the slit, listening hard as the pit was listening.

  The girl whispered, What?

  The pit exploded with frenzied barking as it jumped against its chain.

  Pike spoke fast over his shoulder even as the first man came around the end of the garage. It was happening again.

  Front of the house, but don't open the door. Go. Fast.

  The towel fell from her head as he pushed her forward. He hooked their duffels over his shoulder, guiding her to the door. He checked the slit in the front window shade. A single man was walking up the drive as another moved across the yard toward the house. Pike didn't know how many more were outside or where they were, but he and the girl would not survive if he fought from within the house.

  He cupped her face and forced her to see him. She had to see past her fear. Her eyes met his and he knew they were together.

  Watch me. Don't look at them or anything else. Watch me until I motion for you, then run for the car as fast as you can.

  Once more, he did not hesitate.

  He jerked open the door, set up fast on the man in the drive, and fired the Colt twice. He reset on the man coming across the yard. Pike doubled on each man's center of mass so quickly the four shots sounded like two-baboombaboom-then he ran to the center of the front yard. He saw no more men, so he waved out the girl.

  Go.

  She ran as hard as she could, he had to hand it to her. Pike fell in behind her, running backwards the way cornerbacks fade to cover a receiver, staying close to shield her body with his because the pit bull was still barking. More men were coming.

  When Pike reached the bodies, he dropped to a knee and checked their pockets by touch. He was hoping for a wallet or some form of ID, but their pockets were empty.

  A third man came around the corner of the house into the drive, saw Pike, then dove backwards. Pike fired his last two shots. Wood and stucco exploded from the edge of the house, but the man had made cover and the Python was dry. The third man popped back almost at once and fired three shots-bapbapbap-missing Pike, but hitting his Jeep like a ball-peen hammer. Pike didn't have time to holster the Python. He dropped it to jerk free the Kimber, pounded out two more shots and dropped the man at the edge of the house. Pike ran for the car. The girl had the driver's door open, but was just standing there.

  Pike shouted, Get in. In.

  Another man appeared at the edge of the house, snapping out shots as fast as he could. Pike fired, but the man had already taken cover.

  In.

  Pike pushed the girl across the console, jammed the key into the ignition and gunned his Jeep to the corner. He four-wheeled the turn, buried the accelerator, then glanced at the girl.

  You good? Are you hurt?

  She stared straight ahead, her eyes red and wet. She was crying again.

  She said, Those men are dead.

  Pike placed his hand on her thigh.

  Larkin, look at me.

  She clenched her eyes and kneaded her hands.

  Three men just died. Three more men.

  He made his deep voice soft.

  I won't let anything happen to you. Do you hear me?

  She still didn't look.

  Do you believe me?

  She nodded.

  Pike swerved through an intersection. He slowed only enough to avoid a collision, then accelerated onto the freeway.

  They had been at the house in Eagle Rock for twenty-eight minutes. He had killed three more men, and now they were running. Again.

  He was sorry he lost the Colt. It was a good gun. It had saved them last night in Malibu, but now it might get them killed.

  BLASTING NORTH on the 101. Pike gave no warning before horsing across four lanes of traffic to the exit ramp. They fell off the freeway like a brick dropped in water. Larkin screamed.

  They hit the bottom of the ramp sideways, Pike turning hard across oncoming lanes. Horns and tires shrieked as Pike turned again up the opposite on-ramp, back the way they had come. The girl was hugging her legs, hunched into a knot like they tell you to do when an airplane is going to crash.

  Pike pushed the Jeep to the next exit, then pegged the brakes at the last moment and fell off again, checking the rearview even as they fell.

  The girl moaned.

  Stop it. Stop-Jesus, you're going to get us killed.

  They came out by USC, busy with afternoon traffic. Pike cut into the Chevron station at the bottom of the ramp, wheeling around the pump islands and office, then jammed to a stop. They sat, engine running, Pike pushing bullets into the Kimber's magazine as he studied the cars coming down the ramp. This time of day the ramp filled fast. Pike studied the passengers in each vehicle, but none acted like killers on the hunt.

  Did you recognize the men at the house?

  This is insane. We're killing people.

  The one in the front yard, you passed him. Have you seen him before?

  I couldn't-God, it happened-no.

  Pike let it go. She hadn't seen the two he killed earlier, either; just dark smudges falling. Pike himself had barely seen them: coarse men in their twenties or thirties, black T-shirts and pistols, cut by bars of shadow and light.

  Pike's cell phone vibrated, but he ignored it. He backed from the end of the building, then turned away from the freeway, picking up speed as he grew confident they weren't being followed.

  Ten blocks later, Pike eased into a strip mall, one of those places where the stores went out of business every two months. He turned past the end of the mall into a narrow alley and saw nothing but dumpsters and potholes.

  Pike shut the engine, got out, circled the Jeep, and opened her door.

  Get out.

  She didn't move fast enough, so he pulled her out, keeping her upright because she would have fallen.

  Hey! What-stop it!

  Did you call someone?

  No.

  He pinned her against the Jeep with his hip as he searched her pockets for a cell phone. She tried to push him away, but he ignored her.

  Stop that-how could I call? I was with you, you freak. Stop--

  He snatched her floppy Prada bag from the floorboard and dumped the contents onto the seat.

  You freak! I don't have a phone. You took it!

  He searched the pockets in her purse, then pulled her duffel from the backseat.

  I didn't call anybody. I don't have a phone!

  Pike finished going through her things, then stared at her, thinking.

  What? Why are you staring at me?

  They found us.

  I don't know how they found us!

  Let me see your shoes.

  What?

  He pushed her backwards into the Jeep and pulled off her shoes. This time she didn't resist. She sank back onto the seat, watching him as he lifted her feet.

  Pike wondered if they had placed a transponder on her. Maybe she had been bugged from the beginning, which was how the U. S. Marshals and Bud Flynn had almost lost her. Pike checked the heels of her shoes, then looked at her belt and the metal buttons that held her jeans. She drew a deep breath as he pulled off her belt.


  She said, Like that?

  Pike ignored her smile. It was nasty and perfect.

  Want me to take off my pants?

  Pike turned to her duffel, and she laughed.

  You are such a freak. These are my things. They haven't been out of my sight since I went with the marshals, you freak! Why don't you say something? Why don't you talk to me?

  Pike didn't believe he would find anything, but he had to check, so he did, ignoring her. Pike had learned this with the Marines-the one time a man didn't clean his rifle, that's when it jammed; the one time you didn't tape down a buckle or secure your gear, the noise it made got you killed.

  Are we just going to stay here? Is it even safe here? I want to go home.

  They almost killed you at home.

  Now I'm with you and they've almost killed me twice. I want to go home.

  Pike took out his cell phone and checked the messages. The three incoming calls were from Bud Flynn. Pike hit the send button to return the calls and wondered if they were being tracked by his phone, the signal triangulated between cell stations. To track him they would have to know his number, but Bud had it. Maybe if Bud knew it, they knew it, too.

  Bud answered immediately.

  You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were done when you didn't answer.

  They found us again.

  Get outta here. Where are you?

  Listen. She wants to come home.

  Pike was watching the girl when he said it, and she was staring back.

  Bud didn't answer right away, but when he did his voice was soft.

  Now let's take it easy. Let's everybody calm down. Is she safe? Right now, is everything good?

  Yes.

  I want to make sure I understand-are you talking about the Malibu house or the house I just sent you to, the one in Eagle Rock?

  Bud had sent them to a safe house in Malibu the night before, then put them onto the Eagle Rock house when the shooters hit Malibu.

  Eagle Rock. You gave me two bad houses, Bud.

  Not possible. They could not have known about this house.

  Three more men died. Do the feds have me covered on this or not? I have to know, Bud.

  Bud already knew about the two in Malibu. The feds had screamed, but promised to cover for Pike and the girl with the locals.

  Now Bud didn't sound confident.

  I'll talk to them.

  Talk fast. I lost one of my guns, the .357. When the police run the numbers, they'll have my name.

  Bud made a soft hiss that sounded more tired than angry. Pike didn't press him. Pike let him think.

  All right, listen-she wants to come home?

  Yes.

  Put her on.

  Pike held out the phone. The girl put it to her ear, but now she seemed uncertain. She listened for several minutes, and then she spoke once.

  She said, I'm really scared. Can't I come home?

  Pike knew the answer even before she gave back the phone. Here they were in an alley in southeast Los Angeles, temperature in the mid-nineties, and this girl looked cold. She flew over places like this in her family's private Gulfstream, but here she was, all for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and, for likely the first and only time in her life, trying to do the right thing. And now the right thing meant being with him.

  Pike took back the phone even as a car turned into the far end of the alley. He immediately put himself between the girl and the oncoming car, then saw the driver was a young Latina, so short she drove with her head tilted back to see over the wheel.

  Pike lifted the phone.

  Me.

  Okay, listen-she's good to stay with you. I think that's best and so does her father. I'll line up another houseKeep your house. Did you ID the men in Malibu?

  We have to get you safe. I'll line up another house--

  Your houses are bad.

  Joe--

  They had us twice at your houses. I'll get us a house.

  You can't cut me out like this. How will I know--

  You gave her to me, Bud. She's mine.

  Pike shut off his phone. The girl was watching him there in the angry heat of the alley.

  She said, Now I'm yours? Did you really say that?

  If you want to go home I'll take you home. That's up to you, not them. That's all I meant. I'll take you back if you want.

  Pike knew she was thinking about it, but then she shrugged.

  I'll stay.

  Get in.

  Pike helped her into his Jeep, then studied both ends of the alley. He wanted to start moving, but his Jeep was now a liability. The police would eventually know he was involved because of his gun, but if a witness in Eagle Rock had his license plate, the police might already be looking for a red Jeep Cherokee. Pike wanted to avoid the police, but he couldn't just sit. When you weren't moving you were nothing but someone's target.

  The alley was clear. Right now, at this moment and in this place, Pike and the girl were invisible. If Pike could keep it that way, the girl would survive.

  PIKE TURNED into the Bristol Farms on Sunset at Fairfax, and parked as far from the intersection as possible, hiding their Jeep. She said, What are we doing?

  I have to call someone. Get out.

  Why don't you call from the car?

  I don't trust my cell. Get out.

  Can't I wait here?

  No.

  Pike was concerned she might be recognized even with the new hair and sunglasses, but she might change her mind about staying with him, take off running, and get herself killed. They had known each other for exactly sixteen hours. They were strangers.

  Larkin hurried around the Jeep to catch up.

  Who are you calling?

  We need new wheels and a place to stay. We need to learn something about the people who are trying to kill you. If the police are after us, it changes our moves.

  What do you mean, moves? What are we going to do?

  Pike was tired of talking, so he didn't. He led her past the flower stand at the front of the market to a bank of pay phones, and pushed quarters into a phone.

  Larkin hooked her arm around his, as though the Santa Anas would blow her away if she wasn't anchored. She glanced into the market.

  I want to get something to eat.

  No time.

  I could get something while you're talking.

  Later.

  Pike owned a small gun shop in Culver City, not far from his condominium. He had five employees: four men and one woman-two who were full-time and three who were former police officers.

  A man named Ronnie answered on the second ring.

  Gun shop.

  Pike said, I'm calling in two.

  Pike hung up.

  Larkin squeezed his arm.

  Who was that?

  He works for me.

  Is he a bodyguard, too?

  Pike ignored her, watching the second hand circle his Rolex. Ronnie would be walking next door to the laundromat for Pike's call.

  While Pike waited, two men in their late twenties passed by on their way out of the market. One of them looked Larkin up and down, and the other stared at her face. Larkin looked back at them. Pike tried to read if the second man recognized her. Out in the parking lot they goosed each other before climbing into a black Audi, so Pike decided they hadn't.

  Pike said, Don't do that again.

  What?

  Make eye contact like you did with those guys. Don't do it.

  Pike thought she was going to say something, but instead she pressed her lips together and stared into the market.

  I could have gotten something to eat by now.

  At the two-minute mark, Pike made his call and Ronnie picked up. Pike sketched the situation, then told Ronnie to close the shop and send everyone home. The men who wanted Larkin dead had almost certainly known Pike's identity when they hit the safe houses, but hadn't needed it to find the girl. Now that Pike had disappeared with her, they would try to find Larkin by f
inding him, and this knowledge would give them the people in Pike's life like overlapping ripples, one ripple leading to another, each ripple breaking the next.

  Ronnie said, I hear you. What do you need?

  A car and a cell phone. Get one of those prepaid phones they sell at Best Buy or Target.

  Okey-doke. You can use my old Lexus, you want. That okay?

  Ronnie's Lexus was twelve years old. Ronnie's wife had handed it down to their daughter, but his daughter was away at law school, so mostly the car sat parked. It was dark green.

  Pike told Ronnie to leave the Lexus at an Albertsons they both knew in thirty-five minutes, just leave it and walk away. Thirty-five minutes would give Pike time to hit his condo before ditching the Jeep.

  Pike said, Ronnie. Turn on the security and surveillance cameras when you guys lock up. Then don't go back. Nobody go back until you hear from me.

  Might be better if we stayed open. If your friends roll around we could sort'm out.

  LAPD might come around, too.

  I hear you.

  Pike hung up and immediately walked the girl back to his Jeep. He felt the passing minutes like a race he was losing. Once you engaged the enemy, speed was everything. Speed was life.

  She pulled at his arm.

  You're walking too fast.

  We have a lot to do.

  Where are we going?

  My place.

  Is that where we're going to stay?

  No. The shooters are going there, too.

  Pike lived in a sprawling condominium complex in Culver City, less than a mile from the sea. A stucco wall surrounded the grounds, with gates that required a magnetic key. The condos were arranged in four-unit pods laid out around two tennis courts and a communal pool which Pike never used. Pike's unit was set in a far back corner, shielded from the others.

  Pike drove directly to his complex, but didn't enter the property. He circled the wall, looking for anyone who might be watching the gates or watching out for his Jeep. Pike hated bringing the girl to his condo, but he believed the window of time through which he could enter was shrinking.

  Pike circled the complex once, then turned into the rear drive and waved the gate open with his key.

  Larkin looked around at the buildings.

  This isn't so bad. I thought you probably lived in some grungy rat hole. How much money do bodyguards make?

  Pike said, Get on the floor under the dash.